This is a picture of my son, doing what he loves to do – fluffle his mummy’s hair. He has done this ever since he developed fine motor skills. When he was smaller, he used to do it while feeding. Some babies need a blanket or soft toy, my boy needed a handful of hair belonging to someone who loves him.
(Though, this did limit surrogate feeders somewhat. In fact, I did contemplate lopping off my locks and tying with a ribbon so he could be fed by persons without grabbable-length hair…)
So how does this picture help me cope with the fall-out of toys that litters my home?
Well, I look at this picture and feel vaguely sad. One day, he won’t want to fluffle my hair. He will grow out of it. Just like his older brother, who refused his mother’s hand yesterday, with a look of utter mortification. (Apparently it’s just not cool.)
And eventually, my Little Toy Tornado will also grow out of his toys. One day, all too soon for my liking, the toys will be abandoned as he moves onto more grown-up stuff; sports kits, small bleeping devices, girls… Toy clutter will no longer be a problem or a feature of my life. And I imagine that I’ll look back longingly at these toy-strewn small-child-rearing days and reflect on what a wonderful phase of motherhood it was – despite the mess.
So I try to bear all this in mind whenever I stand on a Go-go or I find a Power Ranger in my shoe. When I can’t sit on the the sofa without first clearing away the debris, I find it helps to consider the fleeting and precious nature of childhood. It keeps things in perspective.
Though it’s true that this phase of parenting is certainly full-on and at times exhausting, it is also utterly magical.
Perhaps a few toys about the place is not a bad price to pay.
As always, I’d love to hear what you think!